


Maybe Tomorrow

by orphan_account



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-02-09
Updated: 2007-02-09
Packaged: 2017-10-05 09:37:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/40268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chuck has his own reasons for wanting to go offworld.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Maybe Tomorrow

**Author's Note:**

> Plotbunny credit goes to [Mr David Nykl](https://www2.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3704656554968038632&postID=239606659336040966)! I rechecked his blog post and it was a suburban Toronto park, not Vancouver as I had mistakenly thought. Sorry. Offworld, everything's Vancouver.

Gate technician Chuck Campbell's middle name is Diefenbaker. He was named after the former Prime Minister of Canada, and any lupine pop culture similarities are purely coincidental (but a source of amusement to many, particularly Dr Novak, who is yet to have her _Due South_ DVDs returned by Hermiod).

Born in Halifax, Nova Scotia, he was abandoned at a young age when his parents went on the run from the Canadian mafia. Left on a swing in a suburban Toronto park with only a bag of Timbits, a book of science fiction stories and, helpfully, his birth certificate, he was discovered by a pack of grey wolves. Initially pacified by Chuck's fuzziness and lupine characteristics, the pack accepted him into their ranks and gradually came to think of him as one of their own.

A subtle yet strong communication developed between Chuck and the wolves, allowing their bond to be a mutually beneficial symbiotic relationship. They provided him with food, shelter, and companionship, and raised him with a keen sense of morality, duty and Canadian identity. In turn, Chuck told the wolves much about the human world, enabling them to thrive more successfully in their suburban environment, and thrilled them with tales read (translated smoothly from English to wolfish) from his science fiction book. On cold, clear nights the pack would gather in the centre of the park where the light pollution from the streetlamps' glare was diminished, and together they would gaze up at the stars. The wolves would ponder the nature of existence in this vast, glittering universe, and Chuck would think to himself, "Ooh, shiny!" Thus began his obsession with worlds far beyond our own, which eventually led to him being part of the expedition to the Ancient city of Atlantis.

He enjoys his responsibilities in the gateroom, being a vital part of Dr Weir's core staff and controlling the great Stargate. But sometimes, sitting there, surrounded by all that beautiful, baffling technology and glassy architecture of the atrium, he daydreams of greenery, of verdant grass and leafy woods, silvered by a high full moon. It's not part of his job description, but he knows that one day he will be part of an offworld mission. He feels it, somehow, like a premonition he's only recently begun to understand, encoded in the stars and the constellation glyphs of the Gate.

The planet will be Earth-like, as Ontario-like as Pegasus Galaxy planets can be. He'll step from the Gate pedestal into lush natural beauty, surrounded by forests and birdsong. He'll draw a deep lungful of fresh air and the faint, animal tang on the breeze will awaken an avalanche of memories, a rush of instincts. Through the trees he'll see amber eyes, slinking haunches, a circling pack. Brothers.

Chuck will slip away into the woods, unseen by the rest of the team, unmissed until it's time to report to Weir and the headcount comes up short. He hopes they will understand. He'll pluck the Velcro backed Canadian flag from a pocket in his tac vest and stick it to his sleeve, with curious muzzles snuffling at him, analysing the newcomer. He will live out his days safe with his own kind, as the Wraith have no interest in this planet unpopulated by humans or other species they can feed on.

A barked command from a marine snaps Chuck out of his reverie. Bad things are happening; they always are on Atlantis. Almost all of the relevant personnel are offworld, spread thinly across as many teams as possible to scout for emergency evacuation locations. There has been a report about two marines on M5D-271 being seriously injured after an accident on the mountainous terrain. Experienced climbers have been found – one of the botanists and a member of the kitchen staff – and the rescue team is ready to head out. Chuck responds to the order and dials the Gate.

Staring at the shimmering blue of the event horizon, he thinks _tomorrow_. Maybe tomorrow will be his day to join a team, to suit up and step through the Stargate. A homecoming approaches, and he's ready to greet it with a howl already forming in the back of his mind.


End file.
